


Holding Cells and Holding Patterns

by ExpatGirl



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Cas uses his body as an all purpose storage solution, Case Fic, Gen, Kinda, M/M, Museums, One Shot, POV Multiple, Pre-Castiel/Dean Winchester, Pre-Relationship, Season/Series 11, The Darkness - Freeform, This is why you have pockets Cas, Writing Exercise, prisons
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-09
Updated: 2016-06-09
Packaged: 2018-07-14 01:16:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,389
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7146146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ExpatGirl/pseuds/ExpatGirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cas is in jail, Dean's miffed, Sam gets sent on a grocery run.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Holding Cells and Holding Patterns

**Author's Note:**

  * For [BurningTea](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BurningTea/gifts).



> [BurningTea](http://archiveofourown.org/users/BurningTea/pseuds/BurningTea) gave me :
> 
> *Cas gets arrested  
> *Cas has a reaction to seeing something very wrong in a museum  
> *Something to do with Cas teaching Dean/Sam some angelic fighting or fighting he learnt in the distant past
> 
> Sorry, kid, maybe I can work the third one in somewhere else. 
> 
> Set nebulously sometime after "Our Little World" and before "The Devil in the Details".
> 
> Any typos, let me know.

“What d’you mean, he’s in _jail_?” Dean didn’t bother lacing his boots or throwing on another shirt, Sam noticed, just grabbed the keys and stalked toward the garage with an expression other people might call a _smiting look._

“Well, holding cell at the police station,” Sam said, almost jogging to keep up. _He’s gonna be cold in just that t-shirt_ , Sam thought. He debated running back to Dean’s room to grab a jacket, but he had the distinct impression that Dean would leave him behind without a second thought. “Uh, he…”

Dean was fumbling for his wallet, pulling out various cards. “What’s his bail set at?” He made a frustrated sound in the back of his throat. “Shit, I think all these are all maxed out. What’ve you got?” He didn’t wait for Sam’s reply before gunning the engine, and Sam practically threw himself into the passenger's seat. “We’ve got a few things in the trunk we can pawn. Who’s our contact in Lincoln?”

“I don’t think…” He shook his head. “He didn’t say anything about bail, Dean, just...I think they just put him in lockup to cool off.”

“Shit, the drunk tank? He was getting hammered in the _middle of the day_?”

“Yeah, getting drunk before noon would be a real problem, I agree.”

It took a beat for that to sink in. “Shut up, Sam, I’m serious. What the hell happened? And why the fuck did he call _you_?”

“Uh, gee, thanks, it’s not like he’s my best friend, too, or anything. Not like I give a fuck about him or what happens to him.”  

They were going much too fast. If Dean didn’t watch the speedometer they were going to end up in a holding cell of their own before they made it to Lincoln. “Save it. I just mean...why didn’t that idiot call _me_?”

Sam was silent for a moment. “Well, I mean...Dean. He probably thought, you know, rightfully, that you’d be pissed at him.”

“Damn right I’m pis--wait.” He looked at Sam sharply. “He thought I’d just… let him _rot_ in jail?” His hands tightened around the wheel until the knuckles went white.

“No, I’m sure he…” Sam faltered for the rest of the sentence. He cleared his throat. “Look, he didn’t say anything about not telling you, so he had to know you’d be the first person I told, right? Buy one, get one."

Dean didn’t say anything, just turned his attention grimly towards the road.

“I mean, he got used to calling me,” he cleared his throat again, “last year, whenever he needed something, so, I’m sure it...it’s just habit at this point. Anyway, he didn’t say what they’d brought him in for. Just, something at the History Museum.”

“What? What was he doing there?”

“I dunno. Didn’t he send you a text yesterday about a possible case in Lincoln?”

“The weird...energy thing?” Dean said, frowning. The temperature in the car slowly lowered from vaporizing to merely boiling as he thought. “He said he thought it might just be his, uh, his grace. You know, acting up. Something about ley lines. I was planning to head over there tomorrow, check it out.”

“Yeah, well, I’m gonna guess this has something to do with it.” They were going something approaching a normal speed now. “I mean, it’s just a holding cell in a city police station. We’ve broken out of higher security places. Hell, the guy could just...knock out a wall and walk out if he really needed to. The fact that he’s actually calling and asking to be picked up means it can’t be that bad.”

Dean made a noncommittal noise.

“He’s probably got a plan.”

Dean ran a hand across his face. “Yeah. Bet you dollars to doughnuts it’s a suicidal one.”

“He wouldn’t have called us if that were the case. He’d just…”

Dean looked pained. “Yeah.”

****

Cas slouched disconsolately in the corner of the holding cell, looking down at his hands. At the sound of Dean’s voice, his shoulders tensed, but he didn’t look up.

“Alright, Hannah, your ride’s here,” the woman who’d taken his fingerprints said brusquely. “Go pick up your coat and belt on the way out.” The door shrieked open, but he didn’t step through it.

“Am I being released into their custody?” Cas asked her.

“Into your family’s…” The officer frowned at him. “Yeah, sure.” The door groaned closed as soon as he cleared it. Someone muttered behind his back and he opted not to parse the meaning behind the words. Somehow a positive assessment of his attractiveness sounded like an insult.  

He didn’t look at them as threaded his belt through the belt loops, but he could feel himself being watched. He looked up a second before Dean was able to glance away. He slid on his coat and felt his blade settle itself into its normal position. He breathed a small sigh of relief.

Dean’s hand gripped his elbow before Cas could say anything. Just as well.

“First of all,” Dean said, quietly, ushering them towards the parking lot, “You wanna explain how you ended up being arrested for public drunkenness in the Nebraska History Museum on a Tuesday morning?”

“I…”

“And two: _Hannah_? You told them your name was _Gabriel Hannah_?”

“I panicked,” Cas said, frowning. “I left my IDs in the car. I just…said the first two names I could think of.” _Well,_ he thought, with an uncomfortable twinge in his chest, _the second two._ “And I wasn’t drunk. That’s why they released me without charge. I told them it was a--a blood sugar thing.”

“So, what was the deal?” Sam asked, climbing into the back seat. “Did you find something in the museum?”

“Yes,” Cas said, glancing back. _How odd to look at Sam from this vantage point_ he thought, but the energy under his skin was distracting, and he couldn’t figure out why this seemed novel. “Pull over at the next gas station. I’ve got something to show you.”

Dean made a strangled noise. “Uh,” Dean said, casting a skittish look at him. “We...really don’t need a demonstration of any skills you picked up during your time in the slammer right now, Cas.”

From the back seat, Sam groused: “Yeah, save it for when you get home.” For some reason, Dean leveled a dark look at him in the rearview mirror.

“I didn’t learn any skills,” Cas said, “except how to pretend there wasn’t a very large inebriated man sleeping on my shoulder for four hours.”

“Sounds fun,” Sam said.

“I spent the time giving him, and subsequently curing him of, various minor ailments to alleviate the boredom.” They reached a gas station. “Stop here,” he said. He began to work on the buttons his shirt.

“Woah, woah, woah,” Dean said, with a note of panic in his voice. “What’re you doing?”

“Um,” Cas said, laying his hand on his stomach. His grace flickered irritably under his palm, and he winced in spite of himself. He suddenly felt very tired. “Retrieving...the artefact I stole?”

“You…” Dean seemed at a loss for words. “You…” He coughed. “You _ate it?"_

“I didn’t _eat_ it. I subsumed it into my being.” He looked at Dean’s ashen face. “Uh. Maybe it would be better if I did this out of your line of sight.”

****

Cas emerged from the men’s room a few moments later, looking pale. He staggered slightly as he came out, and Dean grabbed him by the shoulder to hold him up.

“Here,” Cas said, through gritted teeth. He held out a small necklace of yellowed bone with a sharp-looking black stone in the middle. “It’s not much, but...it might be of some assistance in understanding the Darkness.” He wiped his hands on his coat and leaned his weight into Dean as they made their way to the car. He seemed grateful for the support, so Dean tightened his hold.

“Okay, this was...just _in you_?” Dean asked, noticing the blood under Cas’ fingernails.

“I told you I…”

“Subsumed it, yeah, I got that.” He took a deep breath. “Okay, so, just...never mind. What _is_ it?”

“Old,” Cas said. He made no effort to walk to the car on his own, leaning against Dean in earnest now. “As old as creation itself.” Dean scrambled to get the passenger’s side door open and then helped him slide in. He settled heavily and got his breath back.  “And very powerful.”

“You okay?” Dean asked, crouching down and peering up into his face. “You look a little...out of it.” His hand found its way to Cas’ knee without permission, but he couldn’t think of a reason to move it, so he didn’t. “It’s not Rowena’s…”

Cas shook his head. “No,” he said. “That’s gone.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “I’m fine, just…” He gestured at the necklace in Dean’s hand. “It can be very--draining. Keeping possession of something that way.”

“Yeah, normally playing mule involves more condoms and less, uh...subsumption.” Dean coughed awkwardly to avoid Cas’ quizzical expression. He looked down at the necklace. The stone was faintly pitted and reflected no light. He ran his thumb over it. It felt strangely pleasant. “So what’s this McGuffin do that’s so important it was worth getting arrested over?”

“I believe it’s a fragment of whatever form the Darkness took when the archangels laid their final siege. I thought that, maybe, if we can get it to the bunker to study it, it might give us a lead.”

“This is part of _Amara_?” Dean asked, feeling his stomach plunge. He nearly dropped the necklace.

“Not anymore,” Cas said quickly. “A remnant. Like the remnant of angelic grace that stays inside a vessel. They had to lock her into one form to have any hope of defeating her. I suspect most of it was obliterated when she was imprisoned but an event of that magnitude...” He trailed off. “Things remain. ” He tipped his head back against the seat and swallowed. His eyes slipped closed. “There’s something else trapped in there, too. Archangel or...well, anyway. Something powerful.”

“Wait, does this have anything to do with why the security guard thought you were drunk?”

Cas nodded, still with his eyes closed, and Dean found himself reaching for him again. Again, Cas let him. “I think it resented my taking possession of it. I think perhaps...it mistook my intentions.”

“Your intentions?”

“I’m fallen, Dean,” Cas said quietly. “Whatever...else is in there reacted, uh, negatively to my proximity.”

“What, is that like a Lucifer thing?”

“No, Lucifer hadn’t fallen by that point, remember. But an angel is by its nature meant to be under the command of a greater authority. I think it felt that I’m...not, and therefore reacted as though I were an enemy.”

“Oh, great, and it didn’t occur to you to think of that _before_ you got it all up in your grill?”

Cas looked at him, finally. “Of course it occurred to me. I just…” He shook his head and looked away. “I’m sorry.You’re right. It was stupid a risk to take.”

Dean winced. God, he was so tired of seeing that look on Cas’ face. He was so tired of _causing_ that look. “No, man, it’s, you know, good initiative. You’ve always…always been a self-starter. ”

“Thanks,” Cas said, very obviously not buying it. Dean opened his mouth to try again. “That’s why I let myself be taken in,” Cas continued, before Dean could. “If I could submit to being in _someone’s_ custody, even local law enforcement, then it probably wouldn’t read me as a threat.”

 _Lincoln Police Department, Heaven, what’s the difference?_ Dean thought, smiling a little in spite of himself. Then the rest of Cas’ words sunk in. “Probably? What if it didn’t work?”

“Well, it’s a pretty small fragment. I could’ve made it to the bunker.”

“Cas…”

But Cas’ eyes were slipping closed again, and Dean noted the sheen of sweat across his forehead that made him start. He laid his palm there before he could convince himself not to, searching for signs of fever.

“Okay, you know what, you’re beat. I think...I think we need to head home and get you to bed for a few more days. Sam can drive your car back. There’s gotta be something on TV you haven’t seen yet.”

Cas’ eyes snapped open. “But...”

“Nope,” Dean said roughly, wincing a little as he stood up. “Doctor’s order’s. Hey,” he said. “What about _Moonlighting_? That’s a classic. The will-they-won’t-they to end all will-they-won’t-they.”

“But, Dean...”

“ _No._ " He took a deep breath and softened in his tone. Tried to, anyway. "Look, even MVPs get benched once in awhile.”

“If this is about me...taking unilateral action…”

“We’ll talk about that later, Cas,” Dean said.

Cas looked like he was going to say something else, but then Sam came into view, holding two Whole Foods bags, and whatever it was stayed firmly unsaid. He nodded wearily, and turned his attention to watching some (apparently very interesting) litter blowing across the parking lot.

“So, what’ve we got?” Sam asked, sliding into the back.

“Probably nothing,” Cas said.

“Hey, it might be something,” Dean snapped. “We’ll talk about it on the way. What did you get for lunch? And _please_ don’t say tofu and bean sprouts.”

“Relax, Brando, I got you meat.” Sam rummaged in the bag and extracted a sandwich.

“Excellent.”

“Organic, grain fed, free range.”

“Battered and fried,” Dean said, unwrapping it and taking a bite.

“Ugh, yes, Dean. Cas, here. Coffee. Triple redeye.”

“Thank you, Sam.”

“No sweat,” he said, biting into something that almost certainly contained both bean sprouts and tofu. “You looked like you could use it.”

“Sam, you’re driving Cas’ car back to the bunker.” He waited for Cas to protest, but Cas just took a sip of his coffee and said nothing.

“Can do,” Sam said, opening a bottle of...something that smelled like it shouldn’t be drunk. Dean shook his head and started the engine. Next to him, Cas continued to nurse his coffee, and Sam foraged through one of the shopping bags. As long as he didn’t look too hard, Dean could almost convince himself that everything was okay.

**Author's Note:**

> So I'm kind of in the messy break-up-get-back-together-break-up-get-back-together phase of reading and writing fic and being in fandom. Consider this an attempt at reconciliation. Do it for the kids.


End file.
